<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>fever dreams by bellfort3</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28779975">fever dreams</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellfort3/pseuds/bellfort3'>bellfort3</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF, mcyt, sbi - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>No Romance, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Other, Protective Wilbur Soot, Sick TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), They ARE brothers, TommyInnit - Freeform, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, mentions of vomiting, platonic, they are familiy, tommy is stubborn, tommy is very sick, tommy passes out??, wilbur is worried about tommy, wilbur loves tommy, wilbur takes care of tommy, wilbursoot - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:07:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,733</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28779975</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellfort3/pseuds/bellfort3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy got sick pretty often. It wasn’t surprising, given how skinny and frail he was physically. The only good thing about getting sick as often as he did was that he knew how to handle it. </p>
<p>He shouldn't have to, though, when his fever spikes and he can't keep any food down. With both of his parents out of town on a work trip, Mrs. Steers has no choice other than to call Wilbur to go check on her son.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Family Dynamic - Relationship, No Romantic Relationship(s), platonic - Relationship, they are Family - Relationship, they are brothers - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1026</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Completed stories I've read</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>fever dreams</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Yes, it is I, finally succumbing and writing a sickfic. </p>
<p>I'm actually really pumped about this-sickfics are all-time fav of mine to read so I hope you guys enjoy my take on it! </p>
<p>I got lots of inspiration from the lovely AdharaRaine. They are a god when it comes to prompts. </p>
<p>Anyway, /TW/ for mentions of vomiting and passing out</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tommy got sick pretty often. It wasn’t surprising, given how skinny and frail he was physically. One good look at him and you could tell he got the flu twice in one year and had caught a cold during the summer before. So, it didn’t come as a shock to him when Tommy woke up Thursday morning with a fuzzy head and a sore throat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was his own fault anyway. He knew it had been going to rain yesterday-his mum had texted him telling him so-yet he still decided it was a good idea to walk home from school. Walking three blocks in a steady down-pour only wearing a thin rain-coat was enough to knock Tommy’s immune system down a peg.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The only good thing about getting sick as often as he did was that he knew how to handle it. At the ripe age of thirteen, he was taking his own temperature and counting out his own pills every couple of hours. It happened, when both of your parents worked in the department of foreign affairs and had to take their bi-monthly trips out of the country. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Now, that wasn’t to say that Tommy was </span>
  <em>
    <span>alone. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sure, he had the whole house to himself for the better part of a week most times, but he had had people checking in on him in the past. Before they moved to Brighton, Tommy’s neighbor, a sweet woman by the name of Ms. Lillis, would hobble across the street to make sure Tommy was alive. On the not-so-rare rare occasion that Tommy got sick while his parents were away, Ms. Lillis would be the one to sit by Tommy’s side while he moped on the couch, taking his temperature and feeding him meds. Lying alone in his bed now, burning up with a fever and feeling more dead than alive, Tommy quite missed Ms. Lillis.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Stifling a groan, Tommy rolled over onto his side, swinging his legs out over the edge of the bed. The cool, hardwood floor felt heavenly under his feet as he shakily stood up. All the blood rushed to his head and he swayed for a moment before gathering the energy to make the necessary trip downstairs for some food and medicine if he could stomach it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It probably took him a total of three minutes to stumble down the hallway and stairs into the kitchen, but it felt like hours to the sick teen. Every couple of seconds, a severe wave of nausea would crash over him and he would have to take a few seconds to settle his churning stomach. He had come to the conclusion even before he entered the kitchen that he would not be eating breakfast that day and headed straight for the medicine cabinet. Bleary eyes scanned the shelves until he spotted the familiar blue and white bottle of ibuprofen. He shook out four of the small pills and took them with a glass of water he poured from the faucet. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy felt better at first. He vibed with that familiar feeling of satisfaction that came with taking medicine when you were sick. That feeling was quickly overtaken by regret, though, when he sat doubled over the toilet in the upstairs bathroom ten minutes later, throwing up the medicine and an unhealthy amount of stomach acid. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His fault yet again. He should’ve known better than to try taking medicine on an empty stomach. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Once he was done, Tommy wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and flushed away the contents of his vomit. He shakily hauled himself to his feet, ignoring the way his body protested. He yearned to go back to bed, to crawl beneath his covers and just sleep off the sickness, but he had shit to do. Being sick had become somewhat of a routine for Tommy. First, he had to clean the bathroom so it didn’t reek of vomit later. Second, he had to call the school and let them know he wasn’t coming in. Third, he needed to eat something so that he could take medicine. Only then could he go back to bed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy moved robotically. He wiped off the toilet seat and sprayed some </span>
  <em>
    <span>Febreeze</span>
  </em>
  <span>, ignoring the way his body shook like a leaf. He assumed he was running a slight fever, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it just yet. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Once he was done in the bathroom, Tommy stumbled back into his bedroom to retrieve his phone. He resolved to call his parents first-maybe they could even call the school for him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy’s phone was plugged in on his nightstand. He grabbed it, swiping away the hundreds of notifications that clogged his home screen before dialing his mum’s number.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Mrs. Steers picked up on the second ring, sounding groggy. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Thomas? Is everything all right?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy sighed, trying to refrain from whining. There was something about speaking to his mother that just made him feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>small. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He silently wished she were here, ready to comfort him and nurse him back to health. But alas, she and his dad were both in some hotel in France at the moment. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sick, mum,” Tommy said quietly. His throat was raw, voice hoarse and ragged. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, dear,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mrs. Steers cooed slightly. Tommy heard rustling from her end of the line. He hoped he hadn’t woken her up with his call. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Sick how?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, I-I’m all congested, and my throat hurts, and I threw up the medicine I took.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You can’t take medicine on an empty stomach, baby.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, mum, I know. Can you call the school?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Of course. Can you do me a favor and go take your temperature for me? I want to make sure it’s not too high if you have one.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy bit the inside of his cheek. He knew his mum was referring to that time when he had been home alone and gotten sick about a year prior, back when they had still lived in Nottingham. He had ignored his symptoms, refusing to call Ms. Lillis, and had ended up in the hospital with a fever of 39.5 degrees Celcius (103 degrees Fahrenheit). He had been hospitalized for two days and had scared his parents so bad they had flown home in a panic. Tommy still felt bad about it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I will, mum. I’ll go do that right now.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Thank you, baby. Get some rest and call if you need anything.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Will do,” Tommy said and hung up with a sigh. He pocketed his phone and exited his room, heading back towards the kitchen. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy felt worse with every step he took. His head was spinning so badly he was practically leaning on the railing of the stairway to keep him upright. His muscles ached and screamed at him to stop, to sit and lay down where he was. It felt similar to growing pains, but ten times more severe. He stumbled into the kitchen, wiping nonexistent sweat from his brow, and headed back over to the medicine cabinet. He pulled down the thermometer along with ibuprofen, sticking the tool under his tongue as he shook out four more pills. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The thermometer beeped while Tommy was scrounging the kitchen for saltine crackers. He pulled it out of his mouth and squinted down at the letters that blurred beneath his exhausted gaze. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>38.89 degrees Celcius. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(102 degrees Fahrenheit) </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy suddenly felt even more nauseous than before. That temperature nearly warranted a hospital visit. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Suppressing his panic was like trying to swallow down bile. Tommy’s hand shook as he pulled his phone back out and texted his mother his temperature. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy was okay with getting sick-getting sick was practically normal for him. He could deal with a headache, a runny nose, a sore throat, vomit. What he could </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>deal with well, though, was hospital visits. Walking into a hospital felt like walking into a morgue. No matter if he was there for a broken arm or </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> cancer, he always felt like he was going to die no matter what. It was irrational, stupid, even, because he knew hospitals were supposed to be the </span>
  <em>
    <span>opposite. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You were supposed to walk into a hospital and feel hope for getting better, not dread for getting worse. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy’s phone buzzed in his hand. He glanced at it and saw a text back from his mother. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Mother: </b>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t panic. We caught it early enough that we can bring it down safely. I need you to eat something and take some medicine, then get into bed with a cool washcloth for your head, okay?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy took a shaky breath as he typed out his response. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Tommy: </b>
  <em>
    <span>ok. r u gonna come home?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Mother: </b>
  <em>
    <span>...</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Mother: </b>
  <em>
    <span>It’s too short notice, baby, I don’t think we can. I can call someone for you??</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Let’s get one thing clear: Tommy was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>a baby. He was sixteen years old and more than capable of taking care of himself. He had done it before and he can do it again. But he would be lying if he said he wanted to be alone with the threat of a hospital visit looming over his head right now. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Tommy: </b>
  <em>
    <span>who?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Mother: </b>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur Soot lives close by...</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy tried to backtrack immediately. He was okay with little old Ms. Lillis seeing him all sick and vulnerable, but not </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Wilbur wouldn’t want to deal with his pathetic ass anyway. He had his own shit to do; he didn’t have time to take care of a sick teenager. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Tommy: </b>
  <em>
    <span>no plz not him</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy’s mom didn’t reply right away and his worst fear solidified in his chest when he realized she probably wasn’t replying because she was on the phone with Wilbur. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Tommy chided himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t panic. He won’t have to stay if you handle it now. Yeah, just handle it now. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy found the sleeve of saltine crackers he had been searching for and determinedly choked five of them down, trying not to gag when they touched the back of his inflamed throat. He was downing the ibuprofen with the same glass of water as before when his mother texted him back telling him that Wilbur was on his way over. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And that’s how Wilbur found Tommy puking his guts out in the downstairs bathroom twenty minutes later. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur was placing the emergency key on the counter along with his car keys when he heard the vile sound of splashing solids and a toilet flushing. Mrs. Steers had told him to use the emergency key under the potted plant out front to let himself in, both of them assuming that her son would be asleep in bed by the time he arrived. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Apparently not. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tommy?” Wilbur didn’t bother taking either his shoes or his coat off as he started searching for the teen. He had only been in the Steers' residence one other time-for their house-warming party after the initial move. Wilbur didn’t remember where anything was. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He knew he was getting warmer when the sound of vomiting got louder. “Tommy?” Wilbur was in the main hallway, stopped outside of, what he presumed to be, the bathroom door. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The sound of the toilet flushing was the only response he got. Holding his breath, Wilbur slowly pushed open the door. On the other side was TommyInnit, lying sprawled across the bathroom floor, chin haphazardly held over the toilet bowl. He looked...awful, to put it simply. His face was pale and flushed, greasy blond locks sticking to his forehead and neck with sweat. He had also sweat through his t-shirt, the material hugging his body uncomfortably so. Wilbur could hear his ragged breathing from the doorway-it sounded like he had pneumonia, not your average strain of the flu. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Holy shit, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tommy,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Wilbur finally snapped out of his stupor and rushed into the bathroom. He dropped down by Tommy’s side, placing a tentative hand on the teen’s back. Tommy shivered at the contact. “Jesus Christ, are you okay?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Am I okay?! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Tommy wanted to snap. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve thrown up everything that I’ve tried to eat today so, no, I’m not fucking okay! </span>
  </em>
  <span>But all he ended up saying was, “‘M fine, Wilbur. Go home.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur made an incredulous face as if the mere suggestion of him leaving was just ridiculous. “What? No, Tommy. Your mum called me and told me you have a 39-degree fever, I’m not leaving.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy breathed heavily through his mouth, turning and trying to push Wilbur away. The action was weak but the thought was there. “No, </span>
  <em>
    <span>go. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I can take care of myself.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tommy, your mum called me. She wants me here. Just let me help you-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck off!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy went to say more, perhaps to start properly shouting at Wilbur, but was interrupted by the feeling of his stomach trying to jump out of his throat. He cut himself off and turned back to the toilet, leaning over the bowl just in time to vomit. He gagged, struggling to breathe through his stomach convulsions and searing throat and mouth. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, Tommy,” Wilbur murmured gentle reassurances to the boy. “There you go, let it all out.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If Tommy had any energy to spare, he would’ve whipped around and spat in Wilbur’s face. Maybe it was because he was sick and feeling particularly vulnerable, but the thought of Wilbur pitying him was enough to make him shudder. He didn’t want help, especially if it was being offered by Wilbur. In fact, he’d rather deal with his rising fever and fear of another hospital visit all on his own than allow Wilbur to see him like this. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Once his stomach stopped trying to wrestle itself, Tommy spat into the toilet and flushed it, slumping against the cool ceramic. He would have been content to fall asleep right then and there if the position he was in wasn’t so goddamn uncomfortable. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you done for now, Tommy?” Wilbur’s voice was sickeningly soft. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy didn’t say anything, partially because he didn’t want to and partially because he was too tired to. He focused all of his attention on trying to stand up without immediately passing out. Wilbur saw what he was trying to do and reached out to help steady the trembling teen. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy jerked away from him. “Leave me alone,” he snapped, but he didn’t sound nearly as threatening as he had hoped. He just sounded whiny and annoying. “I can do it myself.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur took a step back, raising his arms in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. Go put yourself to bed. I’ll go grab a cool washcloth for your head.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy grunted, stumbling past the brunette and out of the bathroom. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> do it himself and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> do it himself. Climbing some stairs and getting into bed was an easy task. Yeah, no problem at all. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tommy?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy blinked slowly, turning to look at Wilbur who was stood behind him with a bowl of water and towel in hand. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you doing?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m climbing the stairs, what does it look like I’m doing, dickhead?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur’s face paled at the same time Tommy’s flushed. “Tommy, you’re not climbing the stairs. You’re just standing there.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy glanced down at his feet. The floor swam before his eyes, swirling and spinning like a whirlpool. On the one hand, it was cool-it was like he was looking through a kaleidoscope. On the other, it was disturbingly sickening. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hmm, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought offhandedly as he teetered on the bottom step. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That probably isn’t good. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur dropped what he was holding just in time to reach out and catch Tommy as he fell. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-----</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur really didn’t want to wake Tommy up. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The sick teen had been sleeping for the better part of an hour now. After he had passed out on the stairs, Wilbur had carried him up to bed and tucked him before retrieving both the cool washcloth and the thermometer for the fever. It turns out Tommy had fainted because of a spike in his fever, which peaked at 40 degrees Celcius after he had thrown up the second time. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>An hour later, it was still 40 degrees. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur really didn’t want it to rise anymore.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur also really didn’t want to wake Tommy up and force him to take medicine. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But it wasn’t like Tommy was sleeping peacefully either. The teen was tossing and turning in his sleep, mumbling incoherently every so often. His skin was flushed and pink, but he was shivering violently. Wilbur knew his body needed sleep, but how effective could it be while plagued by fever dreams? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tommy,” Wilbur gently shook the blond’s shoulder. “Tommy, wake up.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy moaned in his sleep, turning his face away from Wilbur. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur sighed. “Tommy, I need you to wake up. You have to take your medicine.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy gurgled in his half-awake, half-asleep state. Wilbur would have thought it was endearing in any other situation.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur shook him again, this time slightly rougher. “Tommy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nooo,” Tommy whined, finally forming coherent words. “I don’t wannnna.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur chuckled lightly. “C’mon, Toms, you gotta.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy rolled back over, staring up at Wilbur with glassy blue eyes. He struggled to focus them on the older man. “Wilba?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, it’s me, Toms.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy hummed and reached for him weakly. Wilbur met him halfway and grasped his hand in the air. He gave it a gentle squeeze.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t feel good,” Tommy mumbled, allowing his eyes to flutter closed once more.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur pursed his lips together, taking his free hand and pressing it against Tommy’s sweltering forehead before sweeping it up into his hair, running his fingers through the sweaty blond locks. This Tommy-Tommy post fever dream-was a lot different than pre fever dream Tommy. While pre fever dream Tommy had been stubborn and uncooperative, post fever dream Tommy was contemptuous and delicate, like a baby duckling. It was like the fever stripped away the confident and composed filter Tommy always had.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d imagine,” Wilbur sympathized, helping the teen into a sitting position. “You’re pretty sick. But you’ll feel better if you take some medicine.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy groaned. He was subconsciously leaning into Wilbur’s touch now. “But I’ll just throw it up.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur tutted. “I was thinking you could try taking it with soup instead of solid food? That way, you might be able to keep it down.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy didn’t argue so Wilbur moved to detangle himself from the teen so he could go and retrieve the chicken noodle soup he had been heating up for the past half an hour. Tommy practically wailed when Wilbur stood up, though. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur glanced back in alarm. “What?! What’s wrong?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy had half the mind to look sheepish. He withdrew into himself, hiding his flushing face behind his hands. “I...I don’t feel good,” he repeated slowly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur cocked an eyebrow. “I know. And…?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t want...can you stay with me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur blinked. That was the last thing he expected Tommy to ask. Just an hour ago, Tommy was yelling at him to ‘go home’ and ‘I don’t need your help’ and other senseless bullshit. Now, here he was, shyly asking Wilbur to stay with him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur should definitely be worried about that fever of his. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But, then again...clingy Tommy was a rare sight to see. Wilbur had only ever seen Tommy be so blatantly clingy with Tubbo, back when they had both first joined the SMP. He remembered being in a group chat with him and Dream, listening to Tommy plead with the older to whitelist Tubbo because ‘Dream, he’s my best friend’ and ‘Dream, please, he’s the only other person I really know.’ </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy was extra careful to not be clingy with Wilbur. No matter how often Wilbur reassured him, telling him that no, he wasn’t annoying and yes, he enjoyed speaking with him off-stream, Tommy was constantly doubting his place in their relationship. Wilbur knew how badly Tommy wanted to let loose, to stop caring so much about his image and reputation. Wilbur also really wanted Tommy to initiate some form of contact or affection without second-guessing himself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So, of course, Wilbur would stay. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, Tommy, how about this? I </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>need you to eat something so you can take some medicine. Do you want to come lay on the couch so you can stay near me?” Wilbur tried for a compromise. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy seemed to perk up at the idea. He went to kick off the covers. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nuh-uh,” Wilbur scolded gently. “I’ll carry you. I don’t need you passing out on the stairs again.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Again?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, again.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur shunted one hand beneath the crook of Tommy’s knees and the other under his arm-pits, taking a deep breath and lifting him off the mattress. Tommy wasn’t terribly heavy-being all skin and bones-but he was tall and lanky. He was difficult to carry down the stairs, a lot harder compared to going up. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, Wilbur was placing Tommy back down on the couch. Tommy looked a lit bit green in the face from all the jostling but was fine otherwise. In fact, he looked about fit to fall asleep again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur tapped him on the forehead. “Stay awake no, Toms,” he chided. “I’m gonna go get you some soup.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy huffed, sounding awfully congested. “Chicken noodle?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yum.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur chuckled through his worry. Was Tommy always like this when he was sick? Or was it just because his fever was considerably high right now? Whatever the reason, Wilbur felt the strong urge to coddle the kid. Never had Wilbur felt so </span>
  <em>
    <span>paternal</span>
  </em>
  <span> over the gremlin child. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur walked back into the living room a moment later, equipped with a warm bowl of chicken noodle soup and some ibuprofen. He handed the bowl over to Tommy, who took it with only a mild look of trepidation and set the pills on the coffee table in front of him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur took the seat on Tommy’s left, turning the tv on as he did so. Almost immediately, he felt warmth spread along his right side. Glancing down, Tommy was curled up snuggly against him, stirring his bowl of soup and avoiding Wilbur’s gaze. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur didn’t mind, not at all. He slung his arm around the teen’s shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer. Tommy sucked in snottily besides him but let it happen. He slumped completely against Wilbur and ladled the soup into his mouth, feeling content for the first time all morning. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Kudos, bookmarks, and comments make my day!!</p>
<p>&lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>